


Triumvirate

by Gabriel4Sam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Padmé Amidala Lives, Satine Kryze Lives, Submissive Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 19:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17290088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriel4Sam/pseuds/Gabriel4Sam
Summary: The three most powerful women in the galaxy work together hand in hand to bring a better world in the day….and like to relax together in the evening.





	Triumvirate

**Author's Note:**

> Wrennette helped me so, so much with beta and advices. Thanks a lot for your patience.

The worst almost happened. The galaxy almost burned. The Jedi almost died to the last youngling. Democracy almost crashed. The poor clones were almost  reduced to brainwashed flesh droids.

Now, the galaxy is working to create a better future with almost feverish passion. Everybody knows how close it was and people want two things. To build a better legacy than being the generation who maximized the Republic problems into a tyranny, and to enjoy life like they never have before.

Hard days of bringing people together and fighting corruption, poverty, and inequality.

Long nights of joy. The birth rate, divorce, and marriage rates, have never been higher.

And nobody enjoyed life more than the three most powerful beings in the galaxy: Chancellor Breha Organa of the Galactic Republic, Chancellor Padmé Amidala of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, and Duchess Satine Kryze, Chair of the Council of Neutral Systems. Under their conjoined rule, the galaxy is not only peaceful, but democracy is progressing, the Hutt cartel being the latest victims of the three women and the worlds they lead. Dozens of systems, billions of slaves are now working up to their first elections, and the three powers, Republic, Confederacy and Neutral systems, are working hand in hand to make it possible.

But for tonight, work is over. The Senators have gone to parties, or to their families, the session is done, and for the women who make it possible, tonight will offer no official duties, no ambassadors to dine and wine.

Breha is already smiling when she enters the private wing. Duty kept her later than usual tonight, and she would never dream of eschewing obligation for pleasure, but now is a time for reward.

She wishes a good night to her handmaiden and bodyguards at the door. Nobody enters the private rooms and her lovers will help her with her dress and braids. She crosses over the antechamber and stops in the doorway of the sitting room, the biggest part of the private rooms, looking at the intimate scene, a warm feeling in her heart.

Padmé and Satine have already abandoned the heavy dresses of their offices, weighty brocade that are always in the way and complicated headdresses that give them headaches with how tight and heavy they are. Satine is checking something on one of the terminals, wearing one of those long silky nightgowns she loves so much. It’s almost transparent and shows the horrible scar on her torso, a mark of pride, of survival. Bacta came just in time to save her, but too late to avoid scarring, and she refused cosmetic intervention. The scar is proof that not even the Sith could end her and for important ceremonies, she has taken to necklines so low the scar is visible. Mandalore, with its love of armour, finds that at the same time scandalous and so daring that they love her even more.

The long nightgown also shows something else: the Duchess is only wearing lacy underwear beneath, enticing and sensual. Breha’s gaze caresses Satine’s curves. Satine was her first lover, years ago, and Breha never tired of admiring her. Satine frowns at her datapad. Whatever work she’s doing, she’s too absorbed to notice Breha.

The Chancellor glances at the other two. Padmé is nestled on one of the large couches, an abandoned drink on the side table next to her. She’s wearing Naboo silk, blue and shiny, and frankly over-adorned for sleep clothes, like almost everything coming from Naboo. The nightgown is bundled at her waist and her head is thrown back against the back of the couch.

Kneeling between her legs, as naked as a plucked nuna, is Obi-Wan Kenobi, quite busy making her gasp and writhe with his mouth. He’s moaning almost as much as her, the sound muffled by her flesh, and he eagerly follows every direction her hands on his hair give him. Breha observes the spectacle with pleasure. There is a sense of happiness there, she could bask every day of her life in it, and never want anything else.

Obi-Wan is the one who sees Breha first, once he has licked Padmé into orgasm and he smiles at her, overjoyed. He’s the one who comes with Breha to the bedroom to help her with her dress and hair. He has become quite the valet, their Jedi, and he loves the simplicity of it. He works in silence, basking in the moment. No diplomacy needed. No need to think about every word, every implication. He works deftly on the small buttons, kneels to help her with her shoes and stockings. She ruffles his hair and he kisses her hand, closing his eyes for a second, suddenly shy.

Breha borrows one of Satine’s nightgowns, this one a light green. She has her own, but Satine loves seeing Breha wearing her clothes. Obi-Wan eases her braids out of her complicated chignon before brushing her hair. Breha could purr. He’s good at it, he likes to serve the three of them like that so much it probably qualifies as a hair kink.

They enjoy an informal and pleasant late meal, most of it finger food, sharing the latest gossip and news about their days. Obi-Wan sits on a pillow at Satine’s feet, opening his mouth obediently every time she offers him something to eat. He can be a picky eater, his busy mind forgetting the demands of his body, the stress knotting his stomach, but not like this. Not when it’s just the four of them, and he can let his head rest on Satine’s knee between bites, the feeling of silk under his cheek. He smells her perfume, discreet and flowery. She always put a few drops on the inside of her knees, just for him.

He’s still naked, another way to let the outside world fade. No Jedi tunics for him here, just everything he is for them to see and use and love. It’s not always like that, sometimes he stays clothed, but sometimes, most of the time in fact, he abandons his clothes as soon as he enters the rooms, needing to shed everything of his daily life and its stress.

Breha, Padmé and Satine never ask, not if he doesn’t first volunteer  information about the Order’s problems, not since the Jedi Order took back its freedom from the Senate, at the end of the war. They respect the secrets of the Order and when he offers them details, they always keep what they learn to themselves. Once, he had confessed to Breha that even when he didn’t seek their advices, those evenings helped. The following morning, when Obi-Wan put on the tunics of Master Kenobi, Councillor of the Jedi Order, his mind was sharper, clearer.

He’s getting sleepy when the droids take back the empty plates but the moment Satine’s hand caresses his neck, he immediately opens his eyes, every idea of sleep fleeing.

He moans, when he sees that Padmé and Breha are kissing, the younger woman straddling Breha, the Queen of Alderaan kneading her ass through the blue cloth. Nothing works on him better than watching them.

“Let’s relocate,” Satine urges, and Obi-Wan follows, his hand in hers. He can do nothing else than follow those women he adores. He wants nothing more of life than these moments. They settle on the enormous bed and he shivers when Satine’s nails trail over his skin. She takes his mouth and he savours her careful explorations. Her mouth tastes of the sweetness of the dessert, with the faintest traces of berries. Hands press on his skin, so many hands and he arches against them.

“Please, please,” Obi-Wan gasps when his mouth is free and Padmé kisses him behind the ear.

“We’ll give you what you need, darling,” Padmé croons, “We always give you what you need.”

Hands guide Obi-Wan and he obeys them, shifting to the head of the bed, gasping when someone softly bites the side of his neck, just enough to make him moan for more. Deftly, Satine uses long silk ribbons, binding Obi-Wan’s wrists to the headboard. He wouldn’t even need the Force to free himself, but he has no intention to try. Another mouth takes his own, Breha this time. Her teeth scrape against his lips, then her tongue soothes the bite. When she breaks the kiss, he whines, disappointed.

“Shhh,” Padmé reassures, caressing his side. Satine crawls up onto the bed, stopping only to share kisses with Padmé and Breha. Obi-Wan whines, admiring the view. His fists tense, relax, as he watches and can’t touch his three lovers kissing and caressing each other. Padmé has lost her nightgown somewhere. 

They’re such beautiful, wonderful women. Their minds, their dedication to the cause, their smiles, everything in them enchants Obi-Wan and there is nothing easier than to let go in their arms and to worship them. Whatever they want, however they want. Satine straddles his chest and his eyes cross when she divests herself of her nightgown. He can feel the lace of her underwear against his skin and it’s difficult to not close his eyes when she caresses his mouth from her thumb.

“What do you want tonight, darling?” Satine asks.

“Everything you want,” Obi-Wan answers immediately.

“Such a good boy for us,” Satine smiles. Breha had rolled over to them and Obi-Wan can feel himself hardening even further when he sees the Queen’s hands caressing Satine’s breasts. Their skin tones make a beautiful contrast and Padmé must be of the same opinion, because she rolls over and Obi-Wan can hear a wet sound as she touches herself, enjoying the spectacle. Breha shifts behind Satine and winks to Obi-Wan. She likes to make him watch and he knows his role in that, to watch and not touch; to wait, hard, until they decide it’s time to use him. It’s a game of patience and denial, and the reward is always sweeter for the wait.

Breha starts kissing the Duchess’s neck and guides Satine’s hands to her breasts and Satine obeys, touching herself the way she prefers, as Breha’s hands slowly caress down her body. The underside of her breasts. The scar. The belly, where Obi-Wan loves to lap sparkling wine. One of her hands finally covers the mount of Satine’s sex.

“You’re so wet darling, the lace is soaked,” Breha croons, shifting closer, and Satine whines. Obi-Wan has difficulties not wriggling. His hard sex is between Satine’s backside and Breha’s belly, and between their movements and the caress of the silk of Breha’s nightgown, he would have failed and come without years of Jedi trained control!

Breha slips her fingers inside the underwear and Obi-Wan watches the pleasure on Satine’s face. Breha is very, very good with her hands. She takes her time, as they undulate against each other over Obi-Wan, playing with Satine’s folds, slipping a finger into her, then two, using her thumb against Satine’s clit. Satine is probably close; she has started to pinch her nipples, something she only likes when orgasm is rising.

“You’re so beautiful, my doves,” Padmé murmurs, her voice throaty as she continues to touch herself “Come on, Breha, darling, my Queen. I want to see our flower come for us. I want to lick her juices from your fingers.”

Satine comes with no more than a sigh, her head resting against Breha’s, and Padmé stops touching herself to crawl to them, keeping her promise. Padmé licks Breha’s fingers, cleaning them, playing with them, her eyes sparkling as Breha’s breath quickens even more.

Satine rolls over against Obi-Wan and Padmé goes to her and they kiss, intertwined, Satine still coming down from her orgasm. Breha shifts, using the head board to help her, her sex just above Obi-Wan’s mouth. She’s still wearing the nightgown and the fabric surrounds his head.

He goes to work gratefully. He loves using his mouth on them and he prides himself on how good he has become. Above him, Breha’s sighs are a music to his ears.

He doesn’t know exactly what the night will bring. He doesn’t care.

He’s theirs.

As safe in their hands as the galaxy.

The world almost burned but that was before, the war, the pain, the infinite sadness.

Now, now is the time for joy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr too, under the same username, come and say hi!


End file.
